Edge of Chaos: The Tenth Hunger Games
by Elim9
Summary: "We imagine the edge of chaos as a place where there is enough innovation to keep a living system vibrant, and enough stability to keep it from collapsing into anarchy ... Extinction is the inevitable result of one or the other strategy: too much change, or too little."
1. Until You Are There

**Disclaimer: **The Hunger Games is not mine.

**Note: **Welcome to the Tenth Hunger Games! I apologize for taking a little longer than expected; Easter break was a bit busy for me. Just a few things before we get started.

First of all, thank you to everyone who submitted a tribute. We've definitely got an interesting batch this time around, and I'm looking forward to writing them. Reapings will begin next chapter. There's also a blog. (There's a link to it on my profile.) Mentors – both previous victors and Capitol mentors – are already up on the blog. Tributes will be posted as they're introduced in-story.

Second, I just want to mention that this is a sequel, in every sense of the word. As such, there will be occasional references to the previous story, particularly in this chapter, because the focus of this one is our most recent victor's Victory Tour. No, you don't have to read _Doomed to Die_ first. This story will be able to stand on its own, and I promise not to spend this entire story mourning the last story's tributes. But, on the other end of the spectrum, I don't want these characters – particularly the mentors – to act as if the Ninth Hunger Games never happened. And there are a few tributes whose stories are intertwined with those from the last Games. (A few of them even make an appearance in this chapter.) I'm going to do my best not to beat you over the head with continuity, but it will be there.

Lastly ... Enjoy. We SYOTers take ourselves a bit too seriously sometimes, I think, but, in the end, this is all for fun. And it's going to be a fantastic ride. So sit back, relax, and enjoy life at the Edge of Chaos.

* * *

**Edge of Chaos  
****The Tenth Hunger Games**

* * *

**Prologue  
****Until You Are There**

* * *

**Harakuise Swallot  
****Victor of the Ninth Hunger Games**

Harakuise didn't even notice the thief until the peacekeeper called his name.

Peacekeeper-in-training, actually; Harakuise knew every law enforcement official in District Five on sight. The young man's name was Cyne Whitten. "Mr. Swallot!" he called out again, his hand clenched tightly around the wrist of a young girl, no more than thirteen or fourteen. "I believe these are yours." The young peacekeeper held out a pair of cuff links.

Harakuise held back a laugh as he glanced at his own wrists and realized that his cuff links were, indeed, missing. He looked back at the girl. She was struggling, terrified, but Cyne held her fast. Maybe she hadn't realized who he was. Maybe she was desperate enough to try to steal from him, anyway. And it had almost worked; she deserved some credit for that. It wasn't everyone who could sneak up on Harakuise Swallot and live.

Of course, whether she lived now was entirely up to him.

In an instant, Harakuise put on his most convincing smile, beaming at the girl as he took his cuff links back from Cyne. "I'd been looking for those! Thank you so much for finding them; I must have dropped them in the street. And I bet you were about to return them to me, too. Thank you very much, young lady. Ammet!" he called to another peacekeeper, who turned immediately. "Would be so kind as to escort this young lady to my house? Tell Jai that she has done me a great service and should be rewarded accordingly. I'd do it myself, but—"

"Victory tour leaves soon," Ammet finished. "I'll see to it."

Ammet led the girl away, leaving Cyne staring at Harakuise, puzzled. After a moment, the young peacekeeper blinked a few times, as if clearing his head. "Where's he taking her?"

"My house," Harakuise shrugged. "I'd see to the matter myself, but, as I said, I'm on a bit of a schedule. Jai's better with these sorts of things, anyway."

"What sorts of things? You don't seriously intend to give her a reward for pickpocketing you?"

"_Attempting_ to pickpocket me," Harakuise corrected. "She was unsuccessful, thanks to your vigilance, and no harm was done. Jai will give her a good meal and maybe a small reward, if she manages not to run away first."

"But isn't it your job to…" Cyne didn't seem to know how the sentence should end.

Harakuise shook his head. "Remember who you're talking to, Cyne. My 'job,' such as it is, is to mentor two children and try to bring one of them home alive from a fight to the death. The rest of the year, my 'job' is to sit around in my luxuriously large home in Victors' Village and enjoy my spoils. That's it. Everything else, I do because it's my passion. And my passion, Cyne, is making certain that this district is safe. Tell me, do you truly believe that girl is a threat to this district?"

"I…" Cyne looked away. Of course he didn't. But he – and every other peacekeeper – had been trained to treat every criminal, no matter how small, as a threat to order and safety. It was a difficult barrier to break through.

"Let me put it another way," Harakuise offered. "Would you rather catch a pickpocket, or someone who's actually planning an armed rebellion?"

That was a much easier question. "The rebel, of course."

"I'm glad we agree," Harakuise nodded. "And I have a history of doing just that. But there's a compromise to be made there. Where do you think most of my information comes from?"

Cyne shrugged. "I always assumed you had people who—"

"I do," Harakuise confirmed. "You just met the newest one. Jai's managed to organize the district's runaways, urchins, homeless, and such into a network of sorts. If one of them hears something, I hear it. And children – well, they hear _everything_, go _everywhere_, usually unnoticed. So I'll ask you again, Cyne. Who would you rather execute – that little girl who was only stealing from me so that she could eat, or the rebels she's going to help me locate?"

Cyne nodded. "I understand."

Harakuise smiled. "Good. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go spend two weeks reminding the districts that twenty-three of their children are dead."

Harakuise thought he saw a fleeting look of … something – maybe anger, maybe grief – on the young man's face, but it was quickly hidden again. "Good luck, Mr. Swallot."

Harakuise nodded crisply and headed for the train station.

* * *

"What are you going to say?"

Harakuise looked up at his former mentor – now his fellow victor – and shrugged. "Whatever comes to mind," he offered, attempting to appear nonchalant. In reality, he had spent several long nights wondering the exact same thing, and had finally decided on the perfect words to say in each district. But if he could fool everyone – including Tania – into thinking that his words were off-the-cuff, all the better.

He had some vague memories of other victory tours coming to Five, but nothing they had said about the tributes stood out in his mind. Most of them had simply read pre-written speeches about honor and pride and the Capitol. Which was all well and good, but Harakuise wanted to say more than that. He wanted to leave an impression.

It was difficult because he had really only known a handful of the tributes, and even those, during the Games, he had seen as competition. Twenty-three tributes who had to die in order for him to live – nothing more. But now that the Games were over – now that he was safe – he could afford to see them for what they were. Children. Children with lives and families and loved ones who would be listening. Wondering what he would say.

He could use that.

Most of the previous years' speeches had focused on the Capitol. He meant to turn the attention back to the districts. Yes, it was the Capitol that had defeated the rebels, but they could never have done it without help. Help from loyalists in the districts – people like his father – who were willing to lay down their lives for peace and order across Panem. People who had pride in their district, belief in the dignity of its people. If he could present the tributes as people to be proud of – people to admire – rather than people to be pitied, it would only help restore that pride.

Of course, he didn't bother saying any of this to Tania. She wouldn't understand. The very thought of the Games still terrified her. And that was all right. Sometimes terror could be effective.

But dignity was better.

* * *

**District Twelve  
****Fallen Tributes: Heloise Cache and Aldo Retchwood**

_"Heloise died early not because she was weak but because she was fearless. She charged headlong towards the Cornucopia because she knew that was what would give her and her allies their best chance. It was a gamble, and she lost, but it's one she was right to take, for she understood that risk is a necessary part of the Games. She took that risk for you – for her family, her district. She wanted to make you proud. And you should be."_

Rosaline and Jemel, Heloise's aunt and uncle, held each other's hands tightly. He was right; Heloise had been fearless. Just like her parents. Now they were all gone. Meron and Gretel had been secretly planning rebellion, and Heloise's death had been enough to bring them out of hiding. They had been fearless, just like Heloise, and, like her, they had taken a gamble.

And, just like her, they had lost.

_"Aldo was my ally, I'm proud to say. When he died, he was on his way out onto the marsh to retrieve a parachute. I've often wondered why – why he was willing to risk his life over what ended up being a little bit of food. But that moment was about more than retrieving food. He was claiming what was rightfully his – a gift from his sponsors, and from his mentor. Aldo and his mentor had their differences, but, in the end, my ally stepped up to claim his birthright both as a son of District Twelve and of the Capitol. And his family – _both _of his families – should be very proud."_

Silently, Annika cried into her husband's shoulder. It wasn't true. Aldo had never accepted that monster – his biological father – as part of his family, his birthright. He had been desperate enough to accept help from the Capitol, yes, but that didn't make him one of them. He was _their_ son. Theirs, not the Capitol's. Not Pardeck's. Theirs.

And he always would be.

* * *

**District Eleven  
****Fallen Tributes: Lordez Miller and Sher Haimish**

_"Lordez gave you a gift, Sonya. When she took your place in the Games, she did more than save your life; she gave you an example. An example of honor and sacrifice – the very things the Games are about. She made a sacrifice, risked her own life to save yours, because she must have believed that your life was worth it. Make it worth it. Remember her courage, her dignity, and her loyalty to her friends and to her district."_

Sonya stood alone, nodding silently. Lordez hadn't given her life so that she could stand here wallowing in her grief. She had to move on. She had to live. That was the best way to honor Lordez's memory – by living. Living the life that Lordez had believed was worth saving.

If only it were as easy as the boy's words made it sound.

_"I killed Sher. There's no easier way to say that, so let's get that out of the way first. I killed him because I thought that he was the only one in the arena who was my equal – a worthy opponent, a like mind. I was wrong. He wasn't my equal; he was better. Smarter, braver … and more reckless. Heedless of his own safety because he couldn't bear an unsolved puzzle, couldn't say no to a challenge. His pride, his confidence, his intelligence – they were his downfall, but also his gift. I killed him, but I can also say that I am truly proud to have known him. And you should be, too."_

Mycr cocked an eyebrow, surprised not by the words but by the sincerity behind them. The boy could easily have spouted the same pathetic sort of speech he had invented for Lordez – honor and sacrifice and courage. Instead, when he spoke about Sher, he'd straightened up a little more. His voice had changed. He'd stopped shifting his weight a little. He'd made eye contact not only with Mycr, but with Binix, who stood beside him, glaring back at the young victor. His speech was still rehearsed, the words carefully chosen, but these ones rang true.

Sher had won, after all.

* * *

**District Ten  
****Fallen Tributes: Libby Hall and Wulfric Harding**

_"Libby was you. All of you. Each and every one of you who lives in fear of the Games, terrified that your name might be called. She was afraid, but, in the end, she rose above that fear. The girl who led her allies deep into the darkness in the heart of the mountains was not the same girl who fainted when she was reaped, who cried through her interview, who ran terrified from the bloodbath. She found something in the arena. She found her courage. That's what the Games do – they bring out the best in us, parts of ourselves that we never would have known otherwise. Libby found herself in the Games, and she died a different person – a _better_ person – than most of you knew."_

Okra wrapped an arm around his son, Javis. Libby had always been that person – always been the same kind, loving, gentle soul she had been when she died. The Games had simply put that kindness onstage for all of Panem to see. Of course she had been scared – anyone in their right mind was terrified of the Games – but she'd had the courage not to hide it. She'd been honest, decent, right from the moment her name had been called until that fateful night in the caves. She'd been true to herself, to the person he'd always known she was.

His daughter.

_"Wulfric was a hero. Like Libby, the Games brought out the best in him – a drive to save his allies, his friends … and even his enemies. I remember watching the highlights of the Games and being surprised – shocked, even – that a tribute would go out of his way to save an opponent from a bloodthirsty spider, knowing that, sooner or later, one of them would have to die if the other one was to live. I could understand doing that for an ally, a friend … but Wulfric did it for a stranger. That was amazing. It was heroic. It was … human."_

Jackson rolled his eyes. Wulfric wasn't a hero – just a decent human being. But that was something that, in the Hunger Games, could only end in death or insanity. Or both. Harakuise had conveniently left that part out – the part where his ally's death had driven Wulfric into a mad rage that left him rampaging into the largest alliance in the arena. If only he could have kept his senses then, he might have had a chance. If he'd waited, he might have been able to make it home. Maybe. Maybe.

If only he'd been a little less human.

* * *

**District Nine  
****Fallen Tributes: Antiquity Kirsh and Husk Fange**

_"Antiquity was never afraid. I saw that during training. While other tributes had fear in their eyes or tears in their voices, Antiquity was calm. Constant. Certain. She was the first to fall, but she would have been the last to break, and, for that, you should be proud."_

Historia brushed the tears from her eyes. She wasn't proud. But she wasn't quite sure what she felt. Antiquity had pulled away from her family years ago; they had lost her to her own apathy long before they had lost her to the Games. But Historia had always hoped, somehow, that her sister would come back, that they could be close again. Now the loss was permanent. But it didn't quite feel sad.

It just felt final.

_ "Husk was a fighter. There's no denying that. That's how he entered the Games, and that's how he left them – fighting. I see he had no family to return to, but that simply means that he was fighting that hard for you. For all of you. For the honor of his district. Remember that, and be proud."_

Wind. The wind whistled through the fields of District Nine and across the empty stage where Husk's family should have been – would have been, if their deaths hadn't preceded his. Shay Harlan, now the owner of the Fange family's wheat company, stood in their place, but it was only a formality. He had never been close to any of Husk's family, and it was no secret that most of District Nine had been afraid of the boy. Now the last member of the Fange family was gone, but the company would go on.

Life would go on.

* * *

**District Eight  
****Fallen Tributes: Nicoline Peters and Zione Brink**

_"Nicoline would be happy today. She would be happy to see you, standing here, safe. She was a gentle soul, and, for that, she will always hold a special place in your hearts. But she was also adaptable. She played the Games, and she played them well. She weighed her options, assessed risks … and even killed. She knew the odds were against her, but, even so, she made it farther than most would have imagined. She wouldn't want you to mourn. She would want you to be proud. And to be grateful for your own lives."_

Shaw clenched his fists. He was right; they shouldn't be mourning. At least, they shouldn't be mourning Nicoline. She should be here with them. She should have made it home. _Could_ have made it home, if only he'd been at her side. He could have protected her. He could have saved her.

But it was too late.

"_Zione was a rebel. And if I were to stand here and tell you that I took no satisfaction in killing him … I would be lying. The rebellion, the destruction, the death – people like him are the reason the Hunger Games exist, to prevent such bloodshed from ever happening again. As a rebel, he had a hand in that, however small, so maybe it's fitting that he met his end in that arena. Nonetheless, most of you didn't know him as a rebel. You knew him as a neighbor, a coworker … maybe a friend. You also knew him as the hero who saved a boy at the reaping. And that's how you should remember him. Whatever he did during the rebellion, he's paid for it in full. Let that be forgotten, and remember the good he did. Remember the best."_

Polaknia looked around quietly at the people of District Eight. Before the reaping, Zione had been unknown to most of them. He'd kept his distance, probably as much for their sake as for his own. In a few years' time, most of them would forget the brave rebel boy who volunteered in the place of Nicoline's brother. Most of them would forget how he had revealed himself in the arena, pronouncing himself a rebel and daring the Capitol to strike him down. Most of them would forget, soon enough.

But she would remember.

* * *

**District Seven  
****Fallen Tributes: Cahra Sheed and Sterling Therms**

_"Cahra was never afraid of the Games. She made that clear from the start. But, more than that, she was determined. She knew what she would have to do to win, and she was willing to do it. She was willing to play the Games, to fight, to kill. She understood what it was to be a tribute, and her fearlessness set a fine example – an example for your district's tributes for years to come."_

Kendrick shook his head. An example? Cahra had been fearless, yes. Reckless, even. But that recklessness had nearly cost her her life at the Cornucopia, and then, later, she had refused to run from Ella when her ally had turned on her, choosing instead to stay and fight the older girl with only a few sharpened sticks. Kendrick held his wife close. He loved his daughter – always had, always would. But an example for District Seven's tributes?

That was a bit absurd.

_ "Sterling saved my life. Not directly, but he saved Brie, and I have no doubt that, without Brie, I would never have made it out of that arena. Bailey, your father was a hero. He wanted nothing more than to come back to you, but, instead, he chose to save the life of another. And although she died, as well, his sacrifice was not in vain. You no longer have him, but you have his memory, precious and pure. Remember that, and remember that he loved you."_

Abi held her niece close, trying not to cry. Trying to be strong. Sterling had come so close. She had always known he had a chance, and she had begun to hope that maybe – _maybe _– he would be the one to leave the arena. But now that hope was long gone. All she had left of her brother were her memories … and the little girl standing beside her. Abi held Bailey even tighter, silently vowing that she would never let go. She would protect Bailey.

For him.

* * *

**District Six  
****Fallen Tributes: Prius Gazer and Pike Carter**

_"Prius wasn't one of you. She could have lived out the rest of her life, happy and secure, safe in the knowledge that she would never be reaped. She would never be forced into the Games. Instead, she chose to participate. She chose to represent your district because she saw something in you – some hidden greatness beneath the surface of your crumbling buildings and your crowded streets. She looked at you, at the people of District Six, and saw a people worth representing, a people worth fighting for. She was proud – proud to risk her life for greatness, for honor, for glory. She was proud of _you_. Remember her the same way."_

Janus wiped the tears from his eyes. He could have stopped her. It would have been so easy, so easy to make an excuse to leave the district for a day, and then return after the reaping. If he'd only known what she was planning, he would never have let her stay, never have let her attend the reaping. But he hadn't known. He had never known, really, what his daughter was thinking.

Now he would never know.

_"Pike wasn't the strongest tributes. He wasn't the smartest. He wasn't the best suited to survival. But, after watching the highlights of the Games, I think I can safely say he was the bravest – certainly braver than I. When it comes to courage, how we deal with death is at least as important as how we deal with life, and Pike faced his death with dignity. He chose to face death alone rather than drag his allies down with him. I … don't know if I could have done that. Remember that sacrifice, and remember it well."_

Axel wrapped an arm around his mother and the other around his sister, Azure. He even managed to smile a little. Harakuise was right; Pike had died bravely. Happy, even. Happy that his allies were safe, that his sacrifice had meant their survival. He had been content with that. He had been at peace.

And now nothing could hurt him.

* * *

**District Four  
****Fallen Tributes: Ella Halliwell and Mars Servitt**

_"Ella was a force of nature. She found her strength in the arena, a strength that helped her move past her fear. The girl that Brie and I faced at the end of the Games was not the same girl who entered the arena. She was stronger, braver, more determined. If things had gone a little differently, she could have won. Take comfort in that, and remember her strength and her courage."_

Mira shook her head silently. That girl at the end of the Games – that hadn't been her daughter. The arena had driven Ella mad. She had killed two allies purely out of fear, and then killed another girl who had done nothing to her. That wasn't her daughter. That wasn't Ella. Mira didn't want to remember any of that. She would remember the Ella that she knew, not the one who had made it to the finale of the Hunger Games.

She would remember.

_"Mars knew what he was doing. He volunteered in his sister's honor, but I don't think he ever meant to leave that arena. In that sense, he accomplished his goal. I'm certain he meant to personally accomplish more before his own death, but maybe if he were here, he would agree that, once the Games are over, it doesn't particularly matter whether those tributes died by his hands or by another's. The people he set out to kill are dead. That will have to be enough for him – and for you."_

Derk stared off into the distance, barely hearing what Harakuise said. He was right – it didn't matter, in the end. Didn't matter whether Mars had died earlier or later, who he killed or who killed him. His son was dead. But it had been his choice. He had wanted to volunteer, ever since his sister's death. He had pushed himself, punished himself, driven himself to be ready to avenge his sister.

Now, maybe, he could finally have some peace.

* * *

**District Three  
****Fallen Tributes: Lina Leto and Tracer Norren**

_"I didn't know Lina. During training, she and Tracer kept mostly to themselves. They seemed to have grown close, and his death hit her hard. But I think any death would have. She was a quiet, private girl, not very suited for a fight to the death. Even so, she did her best, and survived longer than some who could be considered stronger. Because the Hunger Games aren't just made for the strong or the skilled. Anyone has a chance, if they're willing to try. And try she did."_

Yadon didn't look up. Of course his sister had _tried_. But that hadn't been enough. Simply 'trying' never seemed to be enough for District Three, one of only four districts without a victor. He had hoped – naively, perhaps – that Lina would be the first. Instead, she had died on the first day, killed by one of her own allies. Yes, she had tried, as anyone would have, but the odds had been stacked against her.

And she had failed.

_"I'm sorry to say that I know even less about Tracer. But, even though he was a stranger to me, he was well known to you. You – his family, his friends, his neighbors – knew him, and you will remember him. Tracer fell early in the Games, forgotten by some – but not by you. You who knew him well, you will never forget his courage or his honor. Remember him well."_

Marx had to fight to keep from rolling his eyes. It was a standard speech, but he hadn't really expected anything else. What was the boy supposed to say? He hadn't known Tracer. They hadn't been allies. They had probably never even spoken to each other. True, the speech he had given wasn't much, but it was something. And something – even a rehearsed, customary speech – was at least a little better than nothing.

But only a little.

* * *

**District Two  
****Fallen Tributes: Kiona Brink and Equinox Kunzite**

_"Like Zione, Kiona was a rebel, and I never saw her as anything other than an opponent. But, even when facing the enemy, we can find something to admire, and Kiona's strength and dedication were truly admirable. She applied them to the wrong cause, to be sure, but it was a cause she believed in – however misguidedly. As I said of Zione, her debt has been paid. Her crimes have been punished. Now all that remains is to remember the good. Remember the girl you knew, not the rebel hidden inside her."_

Vivienne, Kiona's foster mother, nodded along with Harakuise. She and her husband had tried their best to raise the girl well after the war, but, despite their best efforts, she had clung to her rebel heritage. And now she had paid the price. The Capitol had personally seen to it that she died in the Games. And Harakuise, a Capitol loyalist like themselves, had won. Because that was how the Games worked.

The Capitol always won.

_"Equinox was my ally, the best I could have asked for. Strong, brave, a warrior – he was the sort of tribute I would ally with again in a heartbeat, and, if we had met outside the Games, we may have been friends. As it was, only one of us could win, and I'm almost grateful that he died when he did, so that we didn't end up having to face each other. Because I'm not sure that's a fight I would have won. He went down fighting, as he was always going to, and, for that, you should be proud."_

Automne didn't hear most of what the boy said. She was trying desperately to stand up straight – or, at least, not tip over. She just wanted the ceremony to be over. She wanted to go home. She wanted to collapse on her couch again with a bottle of liquor in one hand and a picture of her son in the other.

She wanted to forget.

* * *

**District One  
****Fallen Tributes: Abstract Calls and Angus Spencer**

_"Abstract was one of the strongest tributes in the arena – there's no doubt of that. She was confident. She was determined. She was prepared. She never hesitated – not once – never wavered from what she knew she would have to do in order to win. She was a model tribute – an example, I am sure, for many who are to come. Abstract is gone, but her legacy will continue. Her example will live on."_

Lisa looked up at the boy, her eyes hard. She didn't _want_ that example to continue. What Abstract had done, she had done in the name of revenge – revenge against the Capitol. And it had cost her her life. It was bad enough that twenty-three children lost their lives every year. To have children growing up thinking of that as a _good _thing, growing up _wanting _to volunteer – that was the last thing she wanted.

But it was something her daughter now had a hand in starting.

_"Angus and I never crossed paths in the arena, and, for that, I am grateful. I didn't realize until I saw the highlights just how deadly he was. He was young – younger than me – but he made his mark early, killing two older, stronger tributes on the first day. He was proud of that – proud of who he was, and what he had been chosen to do. District One should be very proud of its tributes."_

Bradley nodded a little. Angus had been proud. He had even meant to volunteer in a few years, if he hadn't been chosen. Maybe if fate had been kinder, if he had been given the opportunity to prepare for a few more years, maybe then he could have won. As it was, he'd killed three tributes – a total that matched Harakuise's own. If only he'd had a few more years, he could have been an even deadlier force in the arena. He could have won. He could have.

If only.

* * *

**District Five  
****Fallen Tribute: Brie Fallyn**

_"If you've been watching this tour, you know that I've spoken a lot about courage. I've also said a lot about fearlessness. I've praised them both. But it was Brie who taught us – taught _me_ – that they are not one and the same. Brie wasn't fearless. She was afraid of the Games, as many of us are. And she was afraid of death … but not her own. She was afraid that when she died, there would be no one left to save you, Jai. No one to prove your innocence. And so she fought – fought for the chance to return to you, to expose the truth and save your life. It was her love for you, and the courage that her love inspired, that brought her so far through the Games. _

"_Brie was my district partner. She was an ally of sorts near the end. And, at the very last, she was my final opponent. And she died content, knowing that I would keep my promise, that I would do my best to save your life. She accomplished what she set out to do, and she did it bravely. Because courage – real courage – isn't just a matter of not being frightened. It's being afraid and doing what you have to do, anyway. Entering the Games was something she believed she had to do to save you, and she did it without hesitation, without a second thought. She gave her life to save yours, and, in the end, she was a better tribute than I. You – and all of District Five – should be proud, very proud, of your sister."_

Jai choked back a few tears. He knew Harakuise well enough now to know that he meant it. In the end, he had admired Brie. He had killed her, yes, and it had taken Jai a while to get past that, but now he couldn't find it in himself to blame Harakuise for wanting to live. Brie had died happy – or, if not happy, then at least content. And that was about as much as you could ask for in the Hunger Games.

Without thinking, Jai made his way to Harakuise's side of the stage and held out his hand. Harakuise nodded a little, then shook it, and Jai felt in that grasp an almost comforting sense of finality.

The Ninth Hunger Games were finally over.

* * *

"_All major changes are like death. You can't see to the other side until you are there."_

* * *

**Tributes of the Tenth Hunger Games**

**District One**

**Female: **Thea Cheviott (18) _Cashmere67  
_**Male: **Alicante Morgan (17) _DeuceExMachina_

**District Two**

**Female: **Sura Petrovich (16) _Phil  
_**Male: **Matthias Hadrian (18) _Chaos In Her Wake_

**District Three**

**Female: **Astra Halley (14) _IndigoStarling  
_**Male: **Koray Chambers (16) _Acereader55_

**District Four**

**Female: **Avalia De Montemercy (16) _TheGlitchOnFire  
_**Male: **Mathias Arnett (16) _ImmyRose_

**District Five**

**Female: **Theia Slate (15) _Flyere  
_**Male: **Cyne Whitten (18) _Set Fire To The Ashes_

**District Six**

**Female: **Marjani Esan (16) _Choi Junhong  
_**Male: **Roshan Varick (15) _bobothebear_

**District Seven**

**Female: **Rana Goodrich (18) _QuietConspiracy  
_**Male: **Kaji Ichihara (18) _Aspect of One_

**District Eight**

**Female: **Carolina Young (18) _Aileen's Feather  
_**Male: **Shaw Peters (17) _torystory93_

**District Nine**

**Female: **Ardrey Keevan (18) _Sunlight Comes Creeping In  
_**Male: **Cormac Reilly (18) _jakey121_

**District Ten**

**Female: **Maeren Kinsella (14) _The Lunar Lioness  
_**Male: **Lyre Fairfax (15) _A Nihilistic Queen_

**District Eleven**

**Female: **Binix Morraen (18) _LokiThisIsMadness  
_**Male: **Dallas Roy (18) _BadJokesAreTheBest_

**District Twelve**

**Female: **Arianna Cool (15) _Starry-eyed dreamer86  
_**Male: **Hendrix Cohen (17) _DomiHeart1497_


	2. District One: Feel It

**Disclaimer: **The Hunger Games is not mine.

**Note: **Those of you who have tributes in the story, keep an eye out for potential allies as we go through the reapings, and feel free to PM me if you think you see a good match for your tribute. I already have a few ideas, and I may not be able to accommodate everyone, but sometimes you'll see possibilities I hadn't thought of. (Happened last time.)

On that note, on with the reapings! Thank you to _Cashmere67 _and _DeuceExMachina _for Thea and Alicante, respectively. (Tributes are being added to the blog as they are introduced, so these two are up now.)

* * *

**District One Reaping  
****Feel It**

* * *

**Jade Floren  
****District One Mentor**

It was a beautiful day.

Jade smiled at the crowd, and a number of them even smiled back. In other districts, the bright, sunny weather might be considered ironic, or even cruel. How dare the sun shine while children were sent to die? But for the last few years, ever since his own victory, reaping day in District One had a different feel to it. Children were no longer being forced into the Games against their will. They were stepping up to claim what was rightfully theirs: a chance at victory.

Still only a chance, of course. However the Games played out, at least one of District One's children wouldn't be coming home. But the fact that they were beginning to _choose _to be there made it better, somehow. Nobler.

Blanche Rosemaroon, District One's escort, was grinning as she dipped her hand into the first bowl, drew a slip of paper, and unfolded it. "Tayla Amari!"

The girls in the sixteen-year-old section barely had time to shift a little before an "I volunteer!" rang out. Jade grinned as a girl emerged from the eighteen-year-old section. He'd seen her training occasionally with a few other girls, though he hadn't picked her out as one who seemed ready to volunteer. She was about average height, slim and light, with long, blonde hair that now hung in curls. Her hazel eyes were shining as she took the stage; this was her moment, and she knew it.

"And what's your name, dear?" Blanche asked, beaming.

"Thea Cheviott," the girl answered, smiling back.

"Fantastic!" the escort grinned, then reached for a second piece of paper. "Clemence Talon!"

"I volunteer!"

Blanche was practically bouncing up and down as the boy made his way out of the seventeen-year-old section. Jade nodded approvingly. He had never seen the boy training, but he was tall and lean, not particularly muscular but still rather fit. He was tan, with brown hair and dark eyes. "Alicante Morgan," he answered when asked to introduce himself, then turned immediately to his new district partner and offered his hand, which she shook firmly.

Turning his gaze from his new charges, Jade could see smiles in the crowd. Smiles of approval. Pride. Not one, but _two_ volunteers. And this meant more than simply a better chance of winning. No longer would the children of District One be torn unwillingly from their families. These two had chosen to be here. They _wanted _to be here. And, for the first time, Jade wasn't simply proud to be a victor.

He was proud to be their mentor.

* * *

**Alicante Morgan, 17  
****District One Male**

He hadn't expected his father to be upset.

Alicante could see his father struggling to stay calm. Struggling to contain his emotions. Emotions he had never seen fit to express before; his father had always been rather cold and distant. Why would he care now?

But, apparently, he did. He was choking back tears as he asked one question. The only question that really mattered at the moment. "Why?"

The answer, of course was simple: the dead simply weren't entertaining enough anymore.

Alicante and his father had one thing in common: their fascination with the human body. Alicante's skill nearly rivaled his father's. He knew every muscle, every bone, every artery. He could probably perform an entire autopsy blindfolded. And, until now, he had been content to do so. Content to practice his art on the corpses in the morgue.

But corpses – cold and lifeless – could only provide a pale imitation of true art. He could do more – _so _much more – with a living body. Blood flowing, heart beating – a living, breathing canvas.

"Why?"

For a chance to perfect his work. To create a true masterpiece. A work of art on display for all of Panem to see. Because what good was art if he couldn't share it? Too long he had worked in the darkness of the morgue, his skills gone unnoticed, his accomplishments unseen. Now he would have an audience. The Capitol, the districts – they would all see him for the artist he was.

"Why?"

Alicante shrugged. "For fun."

* * *

**Thea Cheviott, 18  
****District One Female**

She wasn't quite certain until her family came to say goodbye.

For a while, waiting for them, Thea sat wringing her hands uneasily. She hadn't told them she was planning to volunteer. She'd mentioned the possibility once or twice, but, even then, they hadn't said much. They hadn't said yes, hadn't told her it was a good idea, hadn't given it their approval.

But they also hadn't said no.

This was what she had been training for, after all. Years ago, it had been merely a thought. A hobby, almost – something to do with her sister. And it had been a shock, at first, how difficult it was. None of her training had come naturally. But that had only made her more determined. More anxious to improve, to excel, because it was a challenge.

But what was the point of it all – all those years of training – if she didn't volunteer now? She was eighteen. It was her last chance. Surely they would know that. Surely they would understand that this was the right thing to do, the only way to make sure that all of that effort meant something.

Surely they would be proud.

Stella was the first one through the door, and, to Thea's relief, she was smiling. "You actually went through with it! I didn't think—" She nearly burst out laughing, then explained, "I actually thought about volunteering myself."

Thea grinned. "You've still got next year, and the year after. This was my last chance." She shrugged. "Just think how impressive it'll be when the Cheviott sisters win two years in a row."

Stella wrapped her sister in a hug. "You hold up your end of that, and I'll hold up mine. Deal?"

Thea held her sister close. "Deal."

And, for the first time, she was certain she had made the right choice.

* * *

"_You can't think through this one … You have to feel it."_


	3. District Two: New Territories

**Disclaimer: **The Hunger Games is not mine.

**Note: **Thank you to _Phil_ and _Chaos In Her Wake_ for Sura and Hadrian, respectively.

* * *

**District Two Reaping  
****New Territories**

* * *

**Vester Pierce  
****District Two Mentor**

Vester wished it would rain.

Bad weather always seemed more appropriate for reaping day. In the back of his mind, Vester knew how silly that was. It was just weather, after all. A few drops of water wouldn't really make the reaping any less horrible. But it still didn't seem right that children would be taken away to their deaths on such a beautiful, sunny day.

Merrill Perlimpet, District Two's escort, flashed Vester a smile. Vester did his best not to glare back. Nine years ago, he had been smiling, too. Grateful that his name had been chosen, proud to give his district someone worth cheering for. He had fought on the Capitol's side during the rebellion, and he had done so again in the Games.

Now he wanted nothing more than to take it all back.

Merrill grinned as he dipped his hand into the bowl. After stirring the names around for a moment, he chose a slip of paper and unfolded it. "Sura Petrovich!"

Vester winced. The name was familiar. The last name, at least. He could remember a boy, two years ago, running forward, desperate to volunteer. Tall, strong, determined.

The girl who stepped forward out of the sixteen-year-old section, however, was none of these things. She was short – certainly no more than five feet, and probably a little shorter – and pudgy, taking slow, hesitant steps toward the stage. She was pale, with black hair and dark eyes. But what caught Vester's attention was her smile. Not just a tiny smile, faked for the cameras. A full, broad smile that remained even as she turned to face the crowd.

Merrill beamed right back at her. "Excellent! What a marvelous young tribute! And now for the young men." Again, he stirred the bowl considerably before choosing a name.

But this time it didn't matter, because as soon as he began to read the name – Vester thought it began with a 't' – a voice cried out, "I volunteer!"

The eighteen-year-old section made way for a boy in a pale green shirt and khaki pants. He was dark-skinned, tall and muscular, with short, black hair and deep black eyes. His expression was blank as he took the stage, but he finally smiled a little as he took his place next to his district partner. A smile not of anticipation, but of satisfaction.

"Wonderful!" Merrill grinned. "And what's your name, young man?"

"Matthias Hadrian," the boy answered, his voice calm, quiet, measured. Final. He turned to Sura and offered his hand. The girl hesitated a moment, but then shook it.

Vester nodded a little. Another year. Another reaping over. Another two children who probably wouldn't make it home. Two more names to haunt him in his nightmares.

How much longer, he wondered, before he wouldn't have to face that stage on reaping day alone?

* * *

**Sura Petrovich, 16  
****District Two Female**

Maybe now it would finally end.

Sura's brother, Judah, had called it her curse. Every year since she had been eligible for the reaping herself, Sura had known at least one of the tributes chosen. And not just distant friends or acquaintances, either. Close friends. Dear friends. Nadene Lilian, her best friend since they were small children, four years ago. Jadon Elliot, her boyfriend, three years ago. Her girlfriend, Salome Freeman, the next year.

The same year Judah had volunteered.

He had never told them why – why he had volunteered that day. But Sura suspected – even though she hoped she was wrong – that he had done it for her. To end the curse. He had suggested once – jokingly, she had thought – that maybe if one of her friends or family volunteered, fate would be satisfied and leave her alone.

And he had been just mad enough – just recklessly brave enough – to try. For her sake. For the sake of the people she loved.

Last year, she had begun to hope that maybe he had been right. Both tributes – Kiona and Equinox – were strangers to her. And it had felt terrible, smiling at the reaping last year, because two children were still going to die. But at least she hadn't known them. For the first time in years, the Ninth Hunger Games hadn't claimed anyone she had loved.

But it seemed the Games weren't quite finished with her. Not yet.

Sura shook her head as she fiddled with Salome's old bracelet, trying hard to keep smiling. Maybe she would be enough. The final sacrifice the Games demanded. Either way – whether she won or died – the people she loved would be safe.

Either way, she would be free.

* * *

**Matthias Hadrian, 18  
****District Two Male**

Tecmessa had been furious.

Hadrian sat quietly, alone at last, twirling his girlfriend's hair ribbon. She had spent nearly her entire visit screaming, demanding answers he couldn't give her, and, when he remained silent, insisting that he at least take her hair ribbon as his token. And he had agreed.

Like he always did.

Hadrian clenched his fists tightly, frustrated with himself for giving in. But this would be the last time. The last favor he would do for her. Because the truth – the truth that he couldn't tell her – was the he had volunteered for the Games to escape. To escape _her_.

He had tried before, a few times. Tried to simply walk away. But, each time, she had come back to him, apologizing, smiling sweetly, begging him not to go, reminding him of how much they loved each other, insisting that if he loved her – if he _really _loved her – he would never leave her alone.

And, each time, he had given in. Because part of him _did_ love her – or, at least, the girl she used to be. The girl he had fallen for three years ago, the girl who laughed and smiled and made him feel like the most important person alive. The girl she could be again, he was certain, if only he tried hard enough.

But Hadrian was tired of trying. He was tired of giving in, tired of not being able to see his friends, tired of barely having a minute to himself. He was tired, and he was desperate.

Desperate enough to volunteer.

Because, either way, he would win. If he won the Games, he would finally be able to tell her no. He would be a victor. She would have to listen. She would have to.

And if he died, it would still be over. She would never be able to control him again.

Either way, he would be free.

* * *

"_The history of evolution is that life escapes all barriers. Life breaks free. Life expands to new territories. Painfully, perhaps even dangerously. But life finds a way."_


	4. District Three: Outside the Normal Order

**Disclaimer: **I don't own The Hunger Games.

**Note: **Thank you to _IndigoStarling _and _AceReader55_ for Astra and Koray, respectively.

* * *

**District Three Reaping  
****Outside the Normal Order**

* * *

**Mayberry Florence  
****District Three Mentor**

This time, she would do better.

Gazing out at the crowd of children, Mayberry felt a twinge of guilt. Since she'd agreed to mentor District Three, she had met with failure after failure, and, for the last few years, she'd begun to quickly write off her young charges. To consider them as good as dead as soon as their names were called. She had thought it would be easier that way. Better to not get attached.

But, in the end, it was impossible – impossible not to get attached. Impossible not to care about these children. The ones in front of her now, trembling and terrified. The ones who had already gone to their deaths, forgotten by some – but not by her. The little girl last year who, on the night before the Games, had taken the time to ask Mayberry why she had wanted to be a mentor.

Which was why she was still here. She could have retired, like District Nine's mentor, Nerond. But she couldn't just abandon them, leaving a stranger to take her place. No, she would be her until District Three had a victor of its own. Once. Just once. Just one life.

Then maybe the last nine years would be worth it.

Rickell Maston, District Three's escort, stepped up to the bowl. He looked as tired as she felt – tired of drawing the names of children who stood no chance. He quickly reached into the bowl and drew the first slip of paper his fingers found. Quickly, he unfolded it and read the name. "Astra Halley!"

The fourteen-year-old section parted around a small girl in a grey dress – a girl who hardly looked old enough to be eligible for the reaping. Her pale skin had a sickly look, and her dark brown hair hung in limp, dirty tangles. Slowly, the girl took a few steps forward, but, as she reached the sixteen-year-old section, she stopped, turning to one of the girls in the section. Whispering, at first, but then louder. Pleading. Begging.

But, instead of stepping forward to take her place, the older girl who could only have been her sister collapsed, trembling uncontrollably. Almost violently. The younger girl froze, shocked, as two men hurried in from the crowd to take the older girl away. "Damn plague," she heard one of the peacekeepers mutter behind her. "Gather all the district together in one small area – brilliant idea. Do they want us all to die?"

Mayberry stared as the peacekeepers dragged the little girl forwards, her green eyes wide with fright, but now too shocked even to cry. Mayberry shuddered; nobody had told her anything about a plague. Maybe they hadn't wanted to scare her. Did the younger girl have it, too? Mayberry fought the urge to cover her nose and mouth. Surely if there was any real danger they would have told her.

Rickell, unfazed, had already drawn a name from the second bowl. "Koray Chambers!"

The sixteen-year-old section made way for a taller boy in a white button-down shirt and brown shorts. He was pale – though not as pale as the girl – with short brown hair and bright green eyes. The boy started towards the stage, finally managing to smile a little as he passed the eighteen-year-old section. One of the older boys stirred, uneasy, but the younger boy shook his head, smiled a little wider, and hurried up to the stage. Once there, he clapped his district partner on the back. "Can't let our older siblings have all the fun, can we?" he asked, loudly enough for the cameras to pick him up.

Mayberry smiled a little. He wasn't fooling anyone. No one in District Three considered the Games 'fun.' But that little remark might just help his chances in the Capitol. And he could use all the help he could get.

But this year would be different. This year, the tributes would have _her_ help. She would do her best – try her absolute hardest – for the first time in years. Maybe it wouldn't do any good, but, at the very least, she wouldn't abandon them. Even if they died, she would see to it that they died knowing they were not alone.

Not anymore.

* * *

**Astra Halley, 14  
****District Three Female**

She was already alone.

Clinging silently to her brother, Oscar, Astra felt as if she had already left. Their parents had come to say goodbye, then hurried off to tend to Raysa. None of them had said what they all already knew: it was useless. Centers had been set up in their section of the district to care for plague victims, but all they could do was keep them as comfortable as possible. There was no cure.

Oscar held Astra close. "It's okay. It'll be okay. You can do this." But he sounded like he was trying to convince himself.

"I'll try," Astra whispered. Of course she would try. Everyone _tried_. But only one tribute every year was successful.

"No," Oscar said suddenly, his voice firmer. "No, you have to do more than try. You have to do this, Astra. Now that Raysa … it's just…" He swallowed hard. "We can't lose both of you."

Tears stung Astra's eyes at the thought of her sister. Even if she somehow made it back, she might never see her again. Raysa could be dead by then. "T-t-tell Raysa I love her, and … and I'm s-sorry I asked her to take my place," Astra stuttered quietly. "I wasn't thinking. I was s-sc—"

"You were scared," Oscar finished. "It's okay. It's okay to be scared. It'll keep you alive." He gave her one last squeeze, then took something off his wrist – a piece of string that he always kept tied there for good luck. Wordlessly, he wrapped it around her wrist, then said quietly, "I'll see you when you get back."

For a while after he left, Astra sat there alone, staring at the door, hoping Oscar was right about fear keeping her alive. Because that was what she felt – so afraid, and so alone.

But alone was good. Because tributes didn't leave the Games together. They left alone, or not at all. And she would be the one who came out alive. She had to. They needed her. So she would do it.

And she would do it alone.

* * *

**Koray Chambers, 16  
****District Three Male**

At least he wasn't alone.

Koray glanced around at his family – his mother and father, standing nearby, and his brother, Jericho, sitting next to him. They hadn't said much. But there wasn't really much to say. They all knew what came next. What he had to do. That they would spend the next few weeks waiting, wishing, hoping for him to be the lucky one to make it out alive. And that he would do everything he could to make that happen.

If only it were as easy as it sounded.

Part of him couldn't imagine not having his family there with him. Even when they'd had nothing – in the worst days of the rebellion, days they had spent huddled together in an underground shelter they shared with five other families – even then, they'd had each other. Who could he turn to for help now?

"I want you to have this," Jericho said at last, handing Koray a pin – two snakes wrapped around a pole. "It kept me safe … during the reapings, that is. So maybe—"

Koray nodded. Jericho was safe now. Next year he would be nineteen, too old for the reaping. Koray smiled up at his older brother, trying to let him know that it was okay. It was okay that he was the one who was safe. Even if the worst were to happen, their parents would still have Jericho. That was good.

But it would be better if they could have both of them.

Koray took a few deep breaths. He would still have help – at least a little. He would have his mentor. His escort. His district partner. His allies, if he could find some. And his family back home, waiting. His district, hoping for a victor, at last.

After his family left, Koray sat, twirling the pin in his hands. Two snakes, intertwined. Together. A reminder that, even in the Games, he wouldn't be alone. Koray smiled and pinned the symbol on his shirt. He could do this.

And he wouldn't have to do it alone.

* * *

"_We have soothed ourselves into imagining sudden change as something that happens outside the normal order of things. An accident, like a car crash. Or beyond our control, like a fatal illness. We do not conceive of sudden, radical, irrational change as built into the very fabric of existence. Yet it is."_


	5. District Four: Entertainment

**Disclaimer: **The Hunger Games is not mine.

**Note: **Just a friendly reminder to keep an eye out for allies as we go through the reapings, and PM me if you think you see a good fit. (Yes, you, too, Careers.)**  
**

* * *

**District Four Reaping  
****Entertainment**

* * *

**Mags Pharos  
****District Four Mentor**

This time, she would do better.

Mags drew a deep breath as she took the stage, trying to pretend she wasn't scanning the crowd for the families of last year's tributes. Mars, who, despite his training, had fallen the first day. Ella, who had made it to the final three. Ella, who had been driven mad by the arena. Ella, whom Mags had hoped she would be able to bring home.

But now she had to put it behind her. Dwelling on last year's tributes wouldn't help either of the children who were about to be chosen. _Children_. Mags eyed the older sections of teenagers. Last year's tributes had both been older than her – Ella by a year, Mars by two. She had been their mentor, yes, but there had been times when she had felt so young, so inexperienced, so unable to help them.

She would do better this year.

Floressa Meverance, District Four's escort, flashed Mags an encouraging smile as she made her way to the reaping bowls, as if to say that she would do her best to choose strong, older, able tributes. As if any of it were really up to her and not the blind forces of chance. Mags tried to smile a little. For the cameras. For the audience that was still watching her.

Still grinning, Floressa reached a hand into the first bowl and drew a name. "Avalia De Montemercy!"

Mags couldn't hide a sympathetic wince; she knew the name. The girl was a year behind her in school, well-known and – for the most part – well-liked. Mags' gaze found her as the sixteen-year-old section began to part around her. She was a little shorter than most of the girls around her, wearing a denim shirt and a long, black skirt. She had long, silky dark brown hair and skin that seemed to grow paler as Mags watched her take her first few steps toward the stage. Slowly, though, she regained her wits, and, by the time she took the stage, her blue-grey eyes were no longer frightened but confident. As she passed Mags, she even ventured a smile, which the older girl gratefully returned. Good. The Capitol would like that. _Good so far_.

Floressa giggled a little and drew the second name. "Mathias Arnett!"

Another familiar name. Mags watched as the sixteen-year-old section parted once more, this time for a long-limbed, somewhat gawky boy in a dark button-down shirt and dress pants. He was about average height, with messy brown hair and dark brown eyes that were shining as he approached the stage – waving and smiling, as if trying to outshine his district partner's enthusiasm. The crowd stared, not quite sure how to respond as the boy hurried over to Floressa's side and grabbed the microphone.

"Thank you!" he beamed, pumping the escort's hand enthusiastically. "It's such an honor to be chosen as your tributes – _such _an honor. I'm proud to represent District Four, and I'm sure—"

"_We're _proud," Avalia corrected, joining him at the microphone. "It's an honor to represent our district, and, rest assured, District Four, your next victor is here on this stage!"

"Yes, _he_ is," Mathias returned, still smiling.

"Well, I guess we'll just have to wait and see," Avalia agreed in an overly-sweet tone that left no doubt she meant for that victor to be _her_.

"How exciting!" Floressa grinned as the pair shook hands. "District Four, your tributes!"

The crowd stared. Waiting. Watching. Mags didn't even think. Someone had to start it, but they were all afraid – all unsure if it was the correct way to respond to two teenagers who seemed excited to go to the death of at least one of them. But the Capitol would love it. Would love them.

Mags rose from her chair and began clapping.

Slowly, the crowd joined in. One by one – adults, teenagers, children – they began to applaud. Not because they approved, but because it was finally clear that _appearing_ to approve was what it took to win the Games. And if _appearing_ to support the Games was enough to save their children, then it was a price that District Four was willing to pay.

The applause roared for a few minutes until the cameras clicked off. Only then did Mags allow herself to stop, to collapse back into her chair, astonished. Amazed – maybe even a little appalled – at her people. Her district. Herself.

What had she done?

* * *

**Mathias Arnett, 16  
****District Four Male**

They would remember him.

Mathias had made an impression, that was certain. Smiling and waving for the cameras, practically skipping to the stage. The Capitol would remember that.

"It's all about appearances," he explained, leaning back on the couch, his sister Catilyn, sitting next to him, listening. She was always a good listener. "They call it a fight to the death, sure, but how many times has the best fighter won? How many times has the strongest tribute come home? Oh, it helps, to be sure, but the Games aren't all about strength. That scrawny kid from Five last year – Was he a good fighter? Was he the strongest?"

The answer was obvious, but Caitlyn shook her head, anyway. "No."

"No, of course not," Mathias nodded. "But he knew how to play the Capitol – gain their sympathies. He killed a rebel – _in the arena_! That's how you get noticed. That's how you get sponsors. _That's_ how you survive."

"So you're planning to … What? Find someone who you think is a rebel and kill them?"

Mathias waved his hand dismissively. Caitlyn could be so dim sometimes. "No, no, no, that's not the only way to get noticed. Worked for him because his family had a history of that sort of thing, but the audience won't want to see the same thing two years in a row. I have to find what angle will work best for me. As soon as the audience is mine, the Games are mine."

Caitlyn finally smiled a little, throwing her arms around her brother. "I hope you're right."

Mathias rolled his eyes dramatically. "Of _course_ I'm right. I'll see you soon."

Caitlyn nodded. "I'll be waiting for you."

Mathias relaxed a little as she left. Of course he was right. The audience was his to win. His to impress. He would make sure they remembered him.

And that would save his life.

* * *

**Avalia De Montemercy, ****16  
****District Four Female**

They would remember her.

Part of Avalia's mind wished she had thought of the idea first – making a speech, claiming to be honored, proud to be a tribute. But it was just as good – and maybe even better – that the idea had come from Mathias, and that she had simply appeared to go along with it. He would impress the Capitol. But she would impress the people who really mattered.

To the people of District Four, she was now the embodiment of everything they had been clapping for – not the idea of being proud of the Games, but being willing to _look _like they were proud. She was one of them. She hadn't started it, but she had gone along with it because it would save lives. They would remember that.

And, more importantly, Mags would.

"Impressing your mentor's the key, of course," Avalia explained, twirling her rainbow-colored hairband around her fingers as her fourteen-year-old sister, Sharlotte, listened. "Sponsors are important, sure, but who talks to the sponsors? Who decides which tributes get help and which ones are left to fend for themselves? You have to impress your mentor in order to get sponsors. _That's_ how you survive."

"So you're … What? Competing with Mathias for Mags' attention?"

Avalia hesitated. Was she? It sounded selfish, when her sister put it that way. But, in the end, yes, she was competing with Mathias – and everyone else in the arena – for everything. For food. For weapons. For survival. And there was no point in pretending otherwise. "I guess so."

There was an awkward silence. Avalia hated awkward silences. She had to say something. "But after fourteen years of competing with you, some boy should be no problem, right?" She gave her little sister a good-natured shove, and they both toppled onto the couch. Avalia threw her arms around Sharlotte and held her close. "I'll see you soon."

Sharlotte squeezed her sister hard. "I'll be waiting for you."

Avalia watched silently as her sister left. Of course she would be back. Mathias wouldn't be a problem. Mags would choose her.

And that would save her life.

* * *

"_This … is entertainment. And entertainment has nothing to do with reality. Entertainment is antithetical to reality."_


	6. District Five: A Series of Encounters

**Disclaimer: **The Hunger Games is not mine.

**Note: **Thank you to _Flyere_ and _Set Fire To The Ashes _for Theia and Cyne, respectively.

Also, since I missed you last chapter – sorry! – thank you to _TheGlitchOnFire_ and _ImmyRose_ for Avalia and Mathias, respectively.

* * *

**District Five Reaping  
****A Series of Encounters**

* * *

**Harakuise Swallot  
****District Five Mentor**

He still wasn't used to their smiles.

As he and Tania took the stage, Harakuise caught some of the younger children smiling up at him. The orphans. Homeless. Urchins. The ones who no longer saw him as the tribute who had killed three children in the arena, including his own district partner. The ones who saw him as the victor who would give them a meal in comfort and safety – in exchange for information. Jai handled most of the details, but they still knew him on sight. Looked up to him. Trusted him.

After almost a year, he still wasn't quite sure how he felt about that.

Of course, it could only help him as a mentor. He would only have a few days to work with a tribute before they were sent into the arena. If some semblance of trust was already there, all the better.

Even the mayor smiled a little as he read the names of the victors. Two names. Two victors. Who would have thought, ten years ago, that District Five would be the first to claim that honor? Ringell Mathers' face shone with pride as he stepped up to the reaping bowl, dipped his hand in, and drew a name. "Theia Slate!"

The fifteen-year-old section parted around a small girl in black leggings and a shapeless grey-green shirt a few sizes too big for her. She was pale, with dark hair that hung a little past her shoulders. For a moment, she stood there, staring, but, after a few seconds, she began walking to the stage – quickly, nervously, scanning the crowd. Hoping, maybe, for the two words that had startled District Five at the reaping last year, hoping for someone to save her.

By the time she reached the stage, the girl was wearing a strained smile, still searching the crowd with bright green eyes. Harakuise studied her for a moment. He was good with faces, but, even so, it took him a moment to place her. But, then, he had only met her once…

If the girl remembered, she didn't let on. She was ignoring him and Tania, ignoring the escort, ignoring everything. Tania eyed her sympathetically, as if silently willing her to give a better impression. Harakuise made a note to remind his fellow mentor that people tended to overestimate the importance of giving a good impression at the reaping. After all, standing there and staring blankly wasn't nearly as bad as forgetting about the reaping entirely, which was what he had done. And yet here he was, while everyone who had smiled or waved or even volunteered at the reaping was dead. Everyone—

"Jai Fallyn!"

Ringell's voice brought Harakuise back with a jolt. Jai. Jai Fallyn. But that was impossible.

No. Not impossible. Just unlikely. Of course, he hadn't expected it, but who did? He hadn't expected to be reaped last year. And if he could be chosen, of course Jai could. Still, it almost seemed too much of a coincidence that—

"I volunteer!"

Harakuise was surprised to find himself breathing a sigh of relief. Of course, he would have done his best to help Jai in the arena, but part of him was glad he wouldn't have to. The boy had been through enough.

Instead, Harakuise watched as a boy in a grey suit and a black bow tie stepped out of the eighteen-year-old section. He was tall and wiry, somewhat tan and very fit, with curly, dirty blonde hair and blue-grey eyes. Harakuise raised an eyebrow; the boy was familiar, as well. Harakuise had assumed he was older – usually, by the time peacekeepers made it through training, they were long since ineligible for the reaping, and he knew this boy was just about ready to take his final test. He must have made it through the program quickly.

All the better.

Ringell was grinning from ear to ear. A volunteer two years in a row! "And what's your name, my boy?"

"Cyne Whitten," the young peacekeeper answered.

Harakuise waited. Waited until they had shook hands. Waited until the cameras clicked off. Then he shook hands with them himself – first with the girl, quietly slipping something into her hand, then with the boy, giving his hand an extra squeeze. "Thank you."

Cyne shook his head. "I didn't do it for you."

Harakuise nodded. "I know." And he hadn't done it for Jai, either – not really.

He'd done it for Brie.

* * *

**Theia Slate, 15  
****District Five Female**

Row was already crying.

He was Theia's only visitor. The only one who had come to say goodbye. The only one who would really notice that she was gone, maybe the only one who would care whether she was gone for a few weeks or forever.

Usually, that was good – going unnoticed. It had helped her stay alive.

Now it just felt lonely.

So she held the little boy close as he wept, trying to keep from crying herself. He was eleven now. That was old enough. Old enough to survive the streets on his own. She had been younger than him – orphaned by the war, left to fend for herself. Until Tomas had taken her in.

And then Tomas was gone, too – killed after pickpocketing a stranger he hadn't realized was a government official. Killed because he'd been just a little too slow. She'd vowed never to make the same mistake. To always run, faster than they could chase her.

Until, six months ago, she had failed.

But she had been spared, long enough to escape and run again. He'd promised her a meal. Shelter. A reward, even. But she knew better than to trust him – or anyone. She hadn't trusted him then, and she wouldn't trust him now.

But, trust or not, her life was now in his hands.

So, after Row left, leaving her with a small band of leather as a bracelet for a district token, Theia took something out of her pocket – something she had tried to steal six months ago, something he had slipped into her hand after the reaping – and fastened it through a small hole in the leather band. A cuff link. A symbol. A reminder.

A reminder that sometimes people got lucky.

* * *

**Cyne Whitten, 18  
****District Five Male**

"Why did you do it?"

Cyne looked up, surprised, as Jai entered the room. Mixed emotions flashed across the boy's face – relief, gratitude, confusion. Maybe even a little regret. He'd already lost his sister to the Games. Maybe there was part of him that would rather join her himself than have someone else die trying to save him.

Cyne shrugged. He hadn't really had time to think it through. He had volunteered on impulse, but, now that he thought about it, there were plenty of good reasons. Jai had already lost his sister; he'd been through enough. He didn't deserve it. And Cyne – with his training, his age, his strength – he stood a better chance.

But those weren't the most important reason.

"It's what she would have done," Cyne answered honestly.

Jai nodded a little. It was no secret – not to Jai – how Cyne had felt about Brie. Brie had never quite reciprocated, but he had hoped that, in time, their friendship might have developed into … something more. Now that hope was gone. But he still had her memory. Her courage. Her example.

Jai's gaze strayed to the bracelet on Cyne's arm – the silver bracelet that Brie had given him a year ago, the night before the reaping. The night she had told him she was planning to volunteer, that it was the only way to save her brother. She had told him to keep it and, only half-jokingly, had told him to await her victorious return.

But she hadn't returned. Harakuise had. Harakuise, who was now his mentor, whom he would have to trust with his life. But how could he trust the boy who had killed Brie?

Cyne shook the thought from his head. It didn't matter. If he was going to live, he would do it with or without Harakuise's help. And if he was going to die, at least his death, like hers, would mean something. He had saved Jai. He'd done it on the spur of the moment, but, now, he knew, even if he'd had more time to think about it, he would have done the same thing.

He would have followed her example.

* * *

"_Real life isn't a series of interconnected events occurring one after another like beads strung on a necklace. Life is actually a series of encounters in which one event may change those that follow in a wholly unpredictable, even devastating way."_


	7. District Six: What You Can Accomplish

**Disclaimer:** The Hunger Games is not mine.

**Note: **First off, I want to apologize in advance for the fact that I'm not going to be updating for a while. For pretty much the rest of June, I'm not going to have access to the internet. I was (somewhat over-ambitiously) hoping to make it through the reapings first, but halfway will have to do. Again, I apologize, but life happens. I just wanted to let you know so that no one freaks out when I don't update for a while. I'm not disappearing. This story is not going to be discontinued. I will be back.

On a different note, thank you to_ Choi Junhong_ and _bobothebear_ for Marjani and Roshan, respectively.

* * *

**District Six Reaping  
****What You Can Accomplish**

* * *

**Aron Meldair  
****District Six Mentor**

He still missed their smiles.

Gazing out at the crowd of children, Aron struggled to hold back a sigh. The District Six he had left so many years ago had never been this grey. This grim. This cold. Aron tucked his hands into his pockets, trying to hide the fact that, despite the sun shining brightly above the factories and streets, he was shaking. Shaking not with cold or even anticipation, but with age.

Later, he would tell them – his superiors. Maybe after the Games. They deserved to know that he wouldn't be able to serve much longer. That, one way or another – whether his replacement was a victor or another Capitol citizen – District Six would soon have a new mentor.

Aron shook the thought from his mind. Today wasn't about him – or his illness. He'd made peace years ago with his own death, but not with the thought of leaving these children without guidance. So he would hold on as long as he could. Not forever, but for a little while, at least. They still needed him.

Aron dug his hands out of his pockets and lightly clutched the arms of his chair to steady them as Vanesse Clipper reached into the first bowl and pulled out a slip of paper. "Marjani Esan!"

The sixteen-year-old section parted around a girl in a dark blue blouse and black skirt. She was very petite, with long, brown hair and dark brown eyes. For a moment, there was silence as she stood there, collecting herself. Then, slowly, calmly, one step at a time, she made her way to the stage, where she stood, waiting – her hands shaking, but her emotions under control.

"Bastien Esan!"

Aron couldn't hide a sympathetic wince as every inch of the girl's composure fell away. The seventeen-year-old section parted for a boy who was surely her brother, but, before he could take a step, he was interrupted by a loud cry. "I volunteer!"

Bastien's gaze snapped towards the fifteen-year-old section, where the voice had come from. A boy was already stepping forward, but Bastien, making his way through the puzzled crowd, met him halfway. For a moment, the two spoke in hushed tones – arguing, maybe – before the older boy took the younger one's hand, and they made their way to the stage together. From a distance, the younger boy looked perfectly normal – short, brown hair, and a lean, average build. Only once he reached the stage did Aron see that his eyes were closed. No, not just closed, but sewn – carefully, surgically sewn – shut.

The girl, still weeping, threw her arms around the pair of them, and they both returned the gesture. For a moment, they stood there, huddled together, until the younger boy pulled away. "I volunteer," he repeated softly.

Vanesse, not quite sure what to make of her newest tribute, forced a smile onto her face. "And what's your name, dear?"

"Roshan Varick," the boy answered before being pulled back into a hug by Bastien. The younger boy whispered something, and the older one nodded. Quietly, the trio turned to face the cameras together, and, at last, the older boy stepped away.

Aron wiped a few tears from his eyes, his own troubles completely forgotten. There would be time for that later. Right now, these children needed him. This family needed him. So he would do his best to help them – to help them survive, and, if he couldn't do that, then to help them find some measure of peace.

One last time.

* * *

**Marjani Esan, 16  
****District Six Female**

They couldn't do this to him.

Roshan had already lost so much. His eyes. Most of his friends. Any hope he'd had of a normal life. And all because his family had supported them – supported the Capitol – if not by action, than at least by belief. And in one brief moment during a rebel raid, it had cost him everything. Amid the chaos, a window had shattered, flinging glass into the five-year-old's eyes, blinding him forever.

Marjani's family had done their best to help. Unable to remove the all of the glass, her parents had surgically removed Roshan's eyes. But the boy's parents couldn't stand the sight of the gaping holes where their son's eyes had been, so, together, they and Roshan had agreed to have his eyes sewn shut, instead. Now, from a distance, he appeared peaceful. At rest.

But that was only how he appeared. Inside, Marjani knew, the boy was broken. Lost. They couldn't send him into the Games like this. They just couldn't.

But they would.

And there wasn't anything she could do to stop it.

Marjani held Bastien close. "I'll help him. I'll … I promise I'll try to keep him safe as long as I can. But … it's just …"

"Only one of you can come back," Bastien finished, nearly in tears again. Marjani nodded quietly. She knew he was torn. Torn between his love for his sister and his best friend – maybe more than a friend, if it were up to Bastien. All she could do was be grateful he wouldn't have to make the choice. And, most likely, neither would she.

Most likely, there would be no choice at all. How much chance did she and a blind boy have? But they wouldn't go down without a fight. She wouldn't do that to them – to Roshan, to Bastien, to her family. She would win, or she would die fighting.

Because now she didn't have a choice.

* * *

**Roshan Varick, 15  
****District Six Male**

They couldn't do this to her.

That had been his only thought at the reaping, when he'd heard Bastien's name. They couldn't do this to Marjani. To Bastien. Not after everything they had done for him. All the kindness their family had shown. The Capitol couldn't take that away.

So he had stopped them.

Not completely, of course; Marjani would still be going into the Games. But Bastien was safe. And Roshan meant to do everything he could to make sure that Marjani made it out alive, as well. He owed them that.

Footsteps in the hall. The door creaked open. "It's me," Bastien said quietly.

He hadn't needed to. Roshan had known from his footsteps. But Bastien was always doing things he didn't need to – guiding him everywhere, sticking up for him, taking time away from his schoolwork to spend time with Roshan and Marjani.

Bastien put an arm around Roshan as he took a seat next to him on the couch. "For you." He pressed something into Roshan's hand. A stone. An old joke between the three of them. It was one of several stones they had found a few years ago. Bastien had been convinced they were gold. Marjani had insisted they weren't. Even Roshan had been able to tell Marjani was right, but Bastien had insisted on taking them to a dealer, nonetheless. Only after three different shopkeepers had told him the same thing had Bastien finally been convinced the stones were worthless.

But they weren't worthless anymore. They were a reminder. A reminder of their friendship. A reminder that he would need once he was in the arena.

"I gave one to Marjani, too," Bastien explained. "I thought you two might want to have something to…" He trailed off, not seeming to know how that sentence should end.

Roshan nodded. "How's she doing?"

Bastien laughed bitterly. "Better than me. I don't know what I'll do if … when…"

Roshan nodded. Bastien was probably right about Marjani; she always managed to appear strong. Bastien had never been one for putting up a false show of strength. His compassion, his kindness – these were his strengths. The Games were no place for someone like him.

Of course, they were no place for a blind kid, either, but, of the two of them, he was the better choice. The only choice. A choice _he_ had made. He had saved Bastien's life. And he would help save Marjani's.

Because now he didn't have a choice.

* * *

"_It's not a matter of wanting it or not. It's a matter of what you think you can accomplish."_


End file.
